


Dovah ahrk Od

by EdoEclipse



Category: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A very pale Mer that is suppose to be extinct, Action, Adventure, Breton Dragonborn - Freeform, F/M, Fantasy, Female Dovahkiin - Freeform, HumanxMer, I know it’s hard to believe, Jokul is just his adoptive Nordic name, Maven adopts, Maven isn’t a total bitch in this story, Mysterious Companion, Romance, Skyrim - Freeform, That is enough spoils, Video Game, female dragonborn - Freeform, game, mer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdoEclipse/pseuds/EdoEclipse
Summary: The story of the Dragonborn-the Dovahkiin. Everyone of the Skyrim land-even beyond-knows of the great tale. They recount how a young Breton, destined for the chopping block, fled after the Great Demise of Helgen-how she aided the Jarl of Whiterun with his own dragon problem, only to discover her true and ultimate power.What they do not know much about; however, is the Dovahkiin's secret companion, a tall being always hidden out of sight, his face never seen by the public eye. Who was he, and why was he so precious and protected by the most powerful person in Tamriel?This is the tale of Enora Dumont-famed Dovahkiin, and her mysterious companion, Jokul Black-Briar-the unknown member of Maven's esteemed family, a person clearly not Nord, but something else. Someone...who should not even exist anymore.





	1. Prologue: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I hope you enjoy this story! My husband is helping me write it (he’s writing Jokul’s side of the story). Please feel free to comment and, without anything else to say, onward to Part one of the Prologue! (I apologize for any grammar/any mistakes).

Cold winds. 

Shrill, cold winds dominated the snowy plains of northern Skyrim on a wintry night. 

A noblewoman—if one could even refer to her as such—struggled through nature's force, accompanied by her two, loyal guards. 

She had some unfinished business in Dawnstar, an urgent matter that could not wait out this harsh, winter storm, and with her wish to keep this such a forever secret, traveling on foot, away from the roads, would serve the only option. 

Her guards were trained in both weaponry and the arcane arts, so she had no doubt in her mind that they could handle anything that dared to cross the path of someone as dangerous as Maven Black-Briar. 

Throughout the years, she worked her influences through both The Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild. Everyone in Riften knew better than to mess with her or her three children. 

At first, not many in the ratway town perceived her influences as intimidating—that is—until they found the corpse of her husband, nailed to the wall of the Bee and Barb. His eyes were scooped out—his bare chest engraved with the words, "Never cross me." 

The thought alone always gave Maven a little chuckle. She knew that—after finding her husband in bed with a little whore—her night would be filled with excitement. 

Her ties with such deadly and dangerous cooperations came at a cost, of course—one of which causing this dreaded, chilling journey. 

"Ma'am, I don't mean to speak out of terms, but why must we travel during such a dangerous night?" her newest guard, a man barely out of boyhood, asked. 

Maven eyed him as they walked, not angered, but rather annoyed with his question. "There are things about me that you've yet to find out. When you become an age of maturity, I will inform you on these matters. As of now, you are still in training."

The young Nord, a boy named Maul, nodded, "Of course." 

Maven's face hinted that of a smile. Maul and his brother, Dirge, were new members of the Thieves Guild, and Maul's test for becoming a full-fledged member was that of guarding their top influencer on her journey to Dawnstar. He was a strong boy, and Maven knew that if he ever decided to leave the Guild, she would not hesitate to offer him a bodyguard position. 

The tiniest hint of light lit up from over the hill, everyone nearly sighing in relief as the houses of Dawnstar appeared into view. 

"I will enter Windpeak Inn alone. If you hear anything that even sounds similar to me in danger, come in at once and defend me. If I die, you die. Are we clear?" 

Both Maul and the much older guard nodded in agreement, leading Maven into the town. Most of the citizens were resting in their homes—save a few guards stationed on night duty. 

Of course, with her influences, they practically ignored her as she made her way towards the inn. 

Her guards sat on the bench outside as she made her way inside. 

Maul glanced over at the older Nord that he was hired with, thinking of a way to make this ordeal a bit less awkward. 

"So...what is your name?" 

The older man glanced at Maul, glancing him up and down as if he was sizing him up, before focusing his eyes on something out in the bay. "Jorgen is the name. But listen, kid, this job isn't gonna suit you if you try and get all friendly with everyone. You're here to do your job—that's it. Thieves are quiet. Unless you want to get your ass in jail, take my advice." 

Maul gulped at the thought, sitting a little farther from Jorgen. "No talking, got it. —just gotta look scary and shut up." 

The older man huffed, "You'll get there, kid." 

Maul and Jorgen sat in silence for several minutes, standing immediately when the door to the inn barged open. Maven stomped out, her face scrunched in pure anger. 

"He will have his head on a platter after I'm through with him," she mumbled out, walking towards the bay, her guards following suit. 

The somewhat young woman let out a deep breath, eyeing the shoreline. "We will rest at the inn in Winterhold. I refuse to rest in such a...disgusting place." 

Maul personally thought that Winterhold was far worse, but he knew better than to voice his complaints. This job was about keeping Maven comfortable, not himself. 

They quickly ventured away from the town, fleeing past the old Dark Brotherhood sanctuary and onto the glacier plains. 

This area was teeming with horker and wolves, but it was nothing that Maul or Jorgen hadn't faced before. 

Winterhold was only an hours walk in between, and at the pace they were going, it would not take the trio that long to reach the town. 

While walking past a system of caves, Maven could have sworn that she heard the sound of a child crying. She suddenly stopped in her tracks. 

"Do you hear that?" she asked her guards. 

Her guards glanced around, trying to listen for whatever sound Maven had heard. 

"I don't hear anything, Lady Maven," Jorgen said, respectfully. 

Maven eyed him for a second before glancing at her young apprentice, "What about you, Maul. Do you hear it?" 

Maul listened as carefully as he could. Out in the distance, he heard it. The sound of a crying child carried through the wind. "I hear it! There's a child out here!" 

Maven wasted no time. She ran directly in the direction of the child, her guards following close behind her. 

The crying sounds led her to a small cave, and as she peered around each corner, she finally found him. 

He had the appearance of a small child, but he was rather tall for his apparent age—similar to an Altmer youngling. His hair was long and as white as the snow around him—his skin the color of ice. 

As she felt him, he felt healthy and warm. Whatever he was, his body thrived in this cold climate. 

"By the...what are you doing here in this storm?" 

The child glanced up at her. He was a mer—obvious with his long, pointed ears. His eyes;however, were as silver as the ore itself. 

Her own eyes widened. She knew exactly what race this child was, but it was...it should have been impossible. He shouldn't exist. 

"Where are your parents?" Maven asked the boy. 

This boy didn't seem to understand her, but it was clear to Maven. He was all alone. Somehow, he was sitting here, in front of her. This mer was as real as the boots on her feet. 

With a smile, she helped him to his feet, cupping his face in between her hands. "Would you like to live with me? I will become your mother, and you will live an extravagant life." 

He seemed to understand slightly, as he nodded frantically. 

Maven smiled, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. She had the perfect name for him. 

"You are now Jokul Black Briar..."


	2. Prologue: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enora was a Breton who wanted to attend the College of Winterhold and become a well-known mage in her homeland of High Rock. Though, it seemed that her luck ran on very, very thin ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

A young woman lay on a cart filled with Stormcloak prisoners, her body slumped over in unconsciousness. 

The other bound victims stared at her dirty form, still curious as to how a little Breton found herself within the largest ambush of Skyrim's Civil War. 

"Do you think she's dead?" the man at the end asked in a shaky voice. He was dressed in rags like that of the unconscious woman. 

The Stormcloak, sitting next to him, shook his head. "The little thing is breathing. I almost feel sorry for her being alive. Since they've captured Ulfric, Sovngarde awaits..." 

"No...no, this can't be happening. This isn't happening! I'm not a rebel!" 

"Face your death with some courage, thief. What's your name, anyway?" 

The man sighed. "Lokir. I'm from Rorikstead." 

"Ralof—from Riverwood. My only regret is not getting to tell my sister and nephew goodbye. He wants to become a Stormcloak when he grows into a man. That boy will make one fine soldier, someday...if there's still a war to fight, that is." 

"Shut up back there!" 

Lokir hushed his tone as he glanced at the man sitting across from him, his mouth tightly bound. "You're Jarl Ulfric, leader of this damned rebellion. Do you see where your ignorance has gotten us?!" 

The Jarl of Windhelm could only growl at the horse thief, glaring at him. 

Ralof wacked the dirty man with his bound hands, "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to the true High King of Skyrim!" 

Lokir sneered in the Jarl's direction. "He is no High King—just a coward who couldn't accept the—"

"The next person who speaks will have their tongue cut off by my sword!" 

The men remained silent, each giving the little woman glances as they arrived into Helgen. The chopping block was set out for them, still bloody from when they last used it. 

As the carts slowed to a halt, the Stormcloak prisoners stood up and, one by one, hopped off to form a line. 

The Imperial Officer in charge of this mass execution noticed the young Breton down, and she marched her way onto the cart, kicking her awake. 

"Get up, you damned traitor! Move it!" 

The Breton gasped awake, glancing around at everyone in utter confusing. "What...where am I? What's going on?" 

A young Imperial eyed her, noticing that she was nothing more but a small Breton. Clearly, she couldn't be apart of the Stormcloak army. "Ma'am, I don't think she belongs here." 

"And how would you know? Have you even checked the list for her name?!" 

He shook his head, "My apologies." 

The young woman quickly figured out where she was. It was an execution for the rebels, a war that she chose to never involve herself in. Her home hailed that of High Rock, and she was here in Skyrim to attend the College of Winterhold. But after being kidnapped by bandits and held hostage for a few months, she thought her life would be saved after she managed to escape their den; however, it seemed that her destiny, no matter what, would be death. 

"Who are you?" the young man asked her. 

She gulped, her voice quivering, "Enora Dumont, from High Rock." 

"Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list. She's not with these traitors." 

The captain shrugged, merely smirking. "She can go to the block!" 

The Imperial soldier sighed, giving Enora a look of pure sympathy, "I'm sorry...I'll make sure that your remains are returned to High Rock. Follow the rebels to the chopping block." 

Her large, blue eyes leaked with tears, but she sucked it up and tried her best to calm down. She wouldn't end up with her head in a basket, and she definitely wouldn't end up like the fool who was laying in the road dead, an arrow wedged into his back. 

Her mage skills were excellent, but she had to figure out which spell would cause enough destruction to cause a scene grand enough for her to escape. Perhaps if she turned herself invisible, she could—

The sound of a roaring cry that carried over the mountains shook her out of her thoughts. 

"What was that?" the young, Imperial soldier asked his captain. 

She huffed in frustration. "It doesn't matter! Next, the Breton!" 

Her breath all escaped at that moment. It was over. It was all over. Her life would never mean anything. Her dreams of becoming a famous mage would never come to pass. 

As she walked towards the chopping block, another call shook the entire town. Both soldiers and citizens began to shift in fear. 

"I said...next prisoner!" The captain called out, unworried of this mysterious echo. 

A quiet sob escaped Enora as she kneeled in front of the last thing her body will ever touch, laying her head on it. 

Suddenly, a large dragon, as black as a moonless night, emerged from the mountains, landing on the tower above her and shouting words of power that both shook and destroyed the town. The sheer force of this dragon knocked the girl unconscious. 

When she awoke, she was in the arms of the young Imperial soldier. 

He glanced down at her, a small smile on his face. "I see that you're finally awake. You've got a nasty bruise on your head from that dragon attack, but my aunt can clean you up and get you some fresh clothes. They may...be a little long on you. You're quite short—even for a Breton." 

Enora glanced around, noticing that they were outside, in the forest. "What...what happened?" 

"A dragon attacked Helgen. So many are dead...the whole town is nothing but rubble now." 

"Why save me?" she asked. 

He sighed. "My guilt wouldn't allow me to leave you there. You didn't deserve to die, so I carried you out of there and through an underground system that led to here." 

"Oh...um, since you know my name, what's yours? And where are we going?"

"Hadvar, and we're going to Riverwood. My Uncle is the blacksmith there. My Aunt Sidgrid will be able to take care of you...so tell me, what is a Breton native to High Rock doing in Skyrim?" 

Enora glanced a way, a bit embarrassed. "I wanted to attend the College of Winterhold, but a group of bandits kidnapped me before I could get there, and they kept me locked in a cage at one of their hideouts for months. I managed to escape...only to bash my head on a pretty thick branch. That's why I was knocked out." 

"Gods above. It's a wonder that you're alive. Your head is going to fall off one way or another if you keep hurting it." 

She rolled her eyes, admiring the view as they neared closer and closer to the river town. 

If only she knew what would be in store for her from here on out...


	3. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jokul is finally venturing away from the watchful eye of his mother, the highly feared Maven Black Briar, but what will this new journey eventually hold for the snow elf?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by my beloved husband. While he is creative, his grammar skills are still improving. I made sure to edit his chapter as well as I could, so if you see any run-on fragments, I do apologize! :)

The sound of coin-trading hands. 

That was the only sound he lived by. 

His whole life was made from the sound—either by traders in the market or by his friends in the Thieves Guild that gave their share of coin to his mother, Maven Black Briar.

The snow elf lived his life by that noise and name. He would walk the streets of Riften, eyes glancing upon him. The people there knew who he was but were terrified of his mother's wrath. The only friends he had were those in the Thieves Guild and the ones in his family. 

However, this trip of his was going to change that forever. 

Today, he was leaving home—taking a carriage to a small town known as Riverwood, or so the mer was told. He heard that nearby, the town of Helgen was going to be holding an execution a few days later, and he told his mother he would be going in order to see the nords’ customs upon criminal punishment. 

Maven wanted to protest, but she could not deny her precious child from doing what he wanted any longer. It was time for him to move on with his life.

She walked over to her child and handed him a peculiar mask as he sat down in the carriage.

"Take this with you, my child—protect your identity from the nords you will encounter,"Maven said, attempting to gaze in the silver eyes of her special and rare son. 

The elf leaned down to grasp the mask and study its design. It was crafted of ebony, and its engravings were of gold...it was beautiful. 

He put it on—fitting him perfectly. It was obvious that his mother had this mask specifically crafted to fit only his frame. 

Pushing his new mask over his head, he glanced back at his mother. 

"Thank you, Mother," the elf said as he patted the back of the wagon, letting the carriage driver know to move on.

"Be careful, Jokul! Return to me safely," said Maven as she watched her adopted mer-son ride away, shrinking as his distance grew further. 

It took two sunrises and a sunset for the carriage to arrive into the town. Once Jokul arrived there, he hopped out of the wagon and slipped coin to the driver. 

"What about all of this stuff back here?" asked the driver, pointing to all of Jokul's luggage.

"Take it back to my mother. Tell her that I didn't need it all," said Jokul as he handed extra coinage to the driver.

Jokul watched as the driver trudged along, away from this quaint town. 

The lengthy elf began looking around at everything he saw—noticing only a small number of buildings—a trader, an inn, and a blacksmith. 

However, he couldn't stay here yet. Today, he had to go to Helgen and see what Nordic punishment consisted of...for research purposes, he told himself. 

"Good day, traveler! Welcome to Riverwood," greeted the local blacksmith that stopped Jokul in his tracks.

The blacksmith walked over to Jokul and put his hand out.

"Been a while since anyone new showed up. Here in Riverwood, we rarely get visitors," said the man as he shook Jokul's hand.

"Yes...I came here before I finish my journey to Helgen in order to watch the execution. Admittedly, I'm a bit new to Nordic customs, and I wanted to witness what sort of punishment rituals the natives of Skyrim use," Jokul explained as he let go of the blacksmith's hand.

"I see...well, before you go, let me give you some protection on your way up to Helgen. Sidgrid! Grab my old sword," the blacksmith yelled.

A thin woman with long, fox-colored hair ventured outside and gave the blacksmith a rusty, iron sword. 

"Here you go, my love—just as you requested," said the woman. 

"Here, my friend. And if anyone asks where you got that sword from, tell them Alvor of Riverwood crafted it," he chuckled out as his wife, Sidgrid, grinned at the elf.

Jokul nodded and carried on his way until suddenly, everyone in town took notice of the sky. It began to turn dark—the clouds swirling around each other. 

The town stared helplessly as some sort of creature, black as a moonless night, flew over Helgen. 

Not only that, meteors from the sky began to crash down into the vulnerable town. Many smaller ones began to fall outside of Riverwood's perimeter, but one, deathly enormous falling-rock began to crash towards the town and, unfortunately, Jokul.

He stared at the flaming rock while many people ran inside their homes, including Alvor and his beloved wife, Sidgrid. 

Jokul held his hands high and began to freeze the rock with a powerful frost spell. It slowly extinguished the flames, and the force of the spell began pushing the meteor slightly away from Jokul, landing right outside of town.

The snow-elf fell to his knees. Over-using his spell drained him a bit, but, sadly, it was not over. 

He peered into the sky to see another meteor racing down at an alarmingly rapid rate. This time, its direction was the home of Alvor and Sidgrid. Jokul watched in horror as this kind couple who so warmly welcomed him into Riverwood met their sudden demise. The rock crashed into their house, landing in their basement and squishing the duo dead.

A moment passed, and the skies slowly morphed back to normal. 

A child, a little girl with light-brown hair, ran towards the home, but Jokul grabbed her, keeping her away from the flames.

"Let me go! Mama! Papa!" she screeched through her sorrows, bringing everyone outside to see the horror of what had so suddenly occurred. 

Jokul held the girl close to him, feeling her tears seep into his white robes. A sudden cry into the air alerted him, causing the mer to look above, watching as the creature soared over the town. 

He removed his mask to get a better look. The creature, without a doubt in his mind, was something he only heard legends about. The townspeople were too shocked and afraid to even bother facing the direction of this creature. 

"A dragon..."


	4. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haunting discoveries are made, and our little snow boy hatches up his own little plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maven’s influence surely got ahold of our dear Jokul...

Once Hadvar and Enora stepped upon the road that led to his childhood village, they could immediately tell that something was wrong. 

Large rocks scattered the pathway, some with animals trapped underneath—their blood painting the earth below their corpses. 

"Something is wrong...Enora, can you stand?" 

She shrugged, struggling out of the soldier's arms and slowly regaining balance on her legs—resembling that of a newborn fawn. 

"I'm wobbly, but it's good enough," she said, walking alongside Hadvar as they neared the village. 

The sight of the south gate crushed under an enormous chunk of the earth alarmed Hadvar enough to where he took off running, leaving the Breton girl behind. 

Concerned herself, Enora pushed along as best she could, nearly gasping as she finally took sight in what had befallen this river village. 

Houses were destroyed, and citizens were injured. Perhaps, some were even dead. 

It didn't take long for her to spot her friend—cuddling close to a little girl. 

Enora rushed over as best she could, kneeling down in front of the two. Her voice was soft, like that of a concerned mother. "Hadvar, what it is? What happened?" 

Hadvar choked on his own words, barely able to make out the situation. "Aunt...Uncle Alvor...rock..." 

The Breton wasn't daft; she knew what he meant. The crushed house across from them must have been the home of the beloved aunt and uncle that her new friend had chatted so fondly of on their way here. Such a kind, young man did not deserve to lose them in a sick, twisted way. 

"I-I'm sorry. I tried to save them, but my magic ran thin. I...I used too much power, and...I'm sorry." 

Enora and Hadvar glanced up in the direction of the voice, shocked to spot a tall, elven man—his face concealed within an ebony mask. 

"Who are you?" Hadvar asked, standing up and keeping his cousin close. 

The mysterious man glanced away. "Jokul Black Briar, member of the Black Briar family." 

Hadvar's eyes widened, though Enora seemed confused. "Black Briar? What's so important about someone named Black Briar?"

The Imperial soldier nearly hissed at her. "Be careful about what you say! The Black Briars are the most influential family in all of Skyrim. Every organization here has some sort of ties with the family. They are the definition of power and wealth." 

A slight blush coated the young woman's face, and she glanced away, embarrassed. Her eyes settled for the destroyed blacksmith. "What happened here?" 

"I know that this will be hard to believe, but a dragon flew by this place," he started, not expecting the other two to nearly choke on their saliva. 

"It came here too?!" Hadvar nearly screeched out. 

"Was it as dark as anything could ever be? Did it shout these strange spells that just crushed the foundation beneath him?" 

Jokul grew even more concerned. "How do you know about this dragon...?" 

Hadvar held little Dorthe even closer. "It attacked Helgen, right before the executions properly began. So many died. The entire town is in ruins!"

"I see...well, then I'm sure you can easily figure out how a meteor suddenly fell and crushed your dear uncle's Blacksmith." 

The young man gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath. "Gods save us all..." 

"Hadvar, what's going to happen to me? I don't have a Mama and Papa anymore," the little girl sniffed out, burying her face into her cousin's side. 

He ran his fingers through her hair. "Hush now. You know your father raised you to be stronger than that. I'll take care of you once this awful war is over, and we'll rebuild Uncle Alvor's blacksmith. After this war, we'll become blacksmiths together. Now, how does that sound?"

"Sounds good, but where will I stay until you don't have to fight anymore?" she asked. 

Hadvar thought about it for a minute before suddenly smiling a tad. "Gerdur and Hod will look after you, I'm sure." 

"But they're Stormcloaks. Don't you hate that?" 

"I hate the idea of you homeless even more, Dorthe," he explained, "now, let's go find them. I'm sure we can work out some sort of deal." 

After the cousins left, Enora felt a bit awkward alone. 

"What happened to your clothes?" 

His voice startled her, causing the woman to jolt. She glanced up at this mysterious creature. "Oh, it's you." 

He seemed unamused by that. "Little One, what happened to your clothes?" 

"It's Enora, and to put it simply, I was kidnapped and held hostage for a few months, and then when I finally escaped, I ran too fast and hit a branch." 

"And then you went to Helgen?" he asked, a bit confused. 

She sighed. "Not really...the Imperials ambushed the Stormcloaks near where I was. I woke up by a crazy woman kicking me off of a cart." 

"How does one mistake such a small halfling for a Stormcloak soldier? You are neither Nord nor Imperial who was born and raised within the customs of Skyrim." 

"I am not the shortest creature on this planet, you know. You are just insanely tall!" Enora huffed out, annoyed with the repeated comments regarding her height. 

"I am what my race grants me, but you are even small for a Breton, are you not?" 

The Breton rolled her eyes. "What race are you anyway? You look like an Altmer, but your hands are too pale to match their race." 

He looked away. "My species is none of your concern." 

"Oh, well I suppose it was nice talking with you. I'm going to Whiterun now. If memory serves me, they are the closest town—the city of this hold, actually. They need to know about these dragon attacks...unless they've also experienced destruction," she explained. 

Jokul hummed, nodding once. "I understand, but you can't visit Dragonsreach dressed like a street beggar." 

"I don't exactly have the coin to buy new clothes..." 

He chuckled, reaching into his pocket and handing her a well-sized pouch of gold coins. "Buy whatever suits you. I'm assuming that you normally wear robes enchanted with that of magicka enhances?" 

She blushed lightly. "Is it that obvious? But thank you. I couldn't acc—" 

"Nonsense. You need clothes." 

"But there must be something that I could do for you, perhaps. I feel awful using such a large amount of currency without granting anything in return..." Enora stared at the pouch, unsure of what to do. 

Jokul lightly tapped the bottom portion of his mask in thought before creating the perfect idea. "I'm not quite ready to head home just yet. You seem like a powerful mage—one who could protect me if I were to venture into the wilderness without a carriage and guards. How about I accompany you on your journey to Whiterun, and you provide me protection." 

"Are...you sure? Whiterun is a short walk from here. The worst you'd encounter are wolves," she said. 

The mer nodded. "I've been sheltered for my entire life. I suppose you could say that I'm...vulnerable...when it comes to combat." 

Enora pondered on this for a few seconds before eventually nodding in agreement. "Alright. You've got yourself a deal—just let me grab a new outfit, and we'll be on our way." 

As she trotted towards the trader, Jokul couldn't help but to smirk behind his mask. 

She was an interesting little Breton...


	5. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jokul and Enora venture out to ole Whiterun, but they end up getting a little side-tracked along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A husbando chapter: edited by me!

It took the mer and the breton a couple of days to venture into the city of Whiterun. The roads led them to various places and people along the way. 

They encountered an interesting Nordic ruin that appeared to call the small humanoid's name in a mysterious sense. 

Jokul merely shoved her away, assuming that the whispers were a trance of magic. 

Soon, they ventured near a farm and began hearing a large thumping noise echoing from a distance. 

The duo glanced over to witness a small group of warriors fighting a giant. 

Within seconds, Jokul rushed towards the small battlefield, holding a dark spell of some sort in both hands. He then unleashed the energy, suddenly possessing two daggers with an aura of shadows in his grasp. The mer jumped onto the back of the giant, stabbing it, his daggers slowly descending the mer to the ground while also tearing open the giant's flesh. 

Enora watched in amazement, noticing how skillful her companion was. She didn't know much about the elf, but now she knew to never cross the elf's wrong path. Why he requested her messily service as a guard, she would never understand.

After the giant collapsed, dead, the group of warriors gathered to thank Jokul for his assistance.

"Thank you for the assistance. I'm quite surprised that a stranger would come to our aid like that," said a redheaded Nord, wearing very peculiar armor. She also adorned green warpaint that resembled scratches across her face.

"No thanks are necessary. I was glad to help," responded Jokul who smiled under his mask.

"You know...you would make for a decent shield-brother. Come to Jorrvaskr if you'd like to join us, the Companions. I'm Aela, by the way." said the woman as she and her companions trotted back to the city.

Jokul was about to carry on until the owner of the land approached him.

"Please, sir! I have one other problem. Please, help me," pleaded the man, appearing quite stressed.

"Peace, friend. Tell me what this predicament is," the elf spoke as he casted a calming spell to quiet the man's fearful voice.

The man sighed, evident that this issue had caused many restless nights. "A large wolf seems to be killing my chickens, and I didn't want to trouble the Companions. And after seeing you take care of that giant with them, I thought I'd ask you to go and slay this beast." 

Jokul stared at the old man for a moment and nodded. He took his leave after the man told him the direction of the wolf. 

The elf then made his way back to Enora, who was chatting with the other farmer and informed her of the predicament. The little breton agreed to help and followed Jokul.

It took a day for them to find this wolf's whereabouts, but the two finally spotted a cave where they saw not just one wolf, but an entire pack of the dangerous beasts. 

"By Magnus...there's an army of those animals down there. How do you want to handle this?" asked Enora, scared of the outcome that could result from this fight.

"Give me a moment," He whispered as the mer headed down towards the wolves, casting on an armor spell and equipping two bound swords.

The wolves noticed the snow elf as he approached, and all stood their ground. 

One by one, the wolves attacked the mer, some of them biting but only tasting magic from his spell. 

Jokul slaughtered them...each with a swipe of his blades; however, it did not go flawlessly. 

Eventually, the armor disappeared. Only four remained. The last of these creatures leaped towards Jokul all at once, their teeth seeping into his flesh.

Enora gasped as Jokul cried out in pain, and as she casted her on spell, ready to burn those foul beasts alive, the young woman suddenly stopped in her tracks. Shocked, she witnessed her friend begin to glow a slight hue of purple. Large pulses of lightning forced all of the wolves off of Jokul. 

He used a very interesting spell, one that he taught himself when he was younger. It was during a tense time when his adopted brothers once cornered him back home.

Jokul was on one knee, bleeding from his wounds and panting from all of the energy. 

Suddenly, a shuffling from the nearby bushes startled the young elf, causing him to release a lighting bolt towards the bushes...killing a rabbit.

Enora began to giggle, a giggle that soon transformed into loud laugher. 

Jokul yanked his hood down over his eyes, and this was how it stayed the entire way back to Whiterun: laughter and embarrassment.

The two finally entered the grand city, and the people observed, confused, as a small breton poked fun at a tall, mysterious figure over a small deed of murdering an innocent rabbit. 

All through the town, Jokul had to walk with this child-sized woman who never ceased to laugh and torment him. 

Thus was almost as bad as the time his older brother, Sibbi, hid a spider in Jokul's room...

Mer and breton came to a stop when they reached the entrance of Dragonsreach.

"Okay! The joke is over. You can stop laughing now," he nearly belted, red with embarrassment under his mask.

"B-but you—and, and then the rabbit, and—oh, Magnus—your reaction! It was just so priceless," said Enora, running out of air...again. 

"I thought it was a wolf hiding from me. Really, Enora...I don't quite see what's so amusing," responded Jokul with a stern attitude.

"Oh, nothing...great bunny slayer. Come on, let us go and see the Jarl," she giggled out, no longer laughing fully and opening the door to the castle.

They entered Dragonsreach and glanced around the wooden palace. This place was well-furnished, and they could feel the heat from the great fire that was in the middle of the throne room. 

The sound of the Jarl's booming voice shook the two out of their thoughts, and they noticed the noble and what seemed to be his two advisers arguing, but they suddenly stopped when the Jarl noticed his new guests.

"And who might the two of you be?" asked the blonde-haired man. He glared at them with great suspicion.

"Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors. Leave at once!" The dark elf raised her sword at the traveling duo, causing Enora to jump slightly in fear. 

"Enough, Irileth...let them speak, and we will continue our council after," said Balgruuf, focusing his glaring eyes on Jokul.

"Jarl Balgruuf, my name is Enora Dumont, and my associate here is Jokul Black-Briar. We have traveled together from Riverwood to bring urgent news," she nearly stammered out, feeling proud that she managed to remain calm and collected. 

"Black-Briar...now why would any of Maven's family be here and not in that disgusting hole you call a city," the imperial ground out in disgust, who was easily more snobby than the dark elf

"Proventus, do not interrupt our guests. It matters not why a Black-Briar is here...just as long as he causes no trouble," the Jarl said in an upset tone.

"Dragons have come back, Jarl Balgruuf, and it may be coming here next," said Jokul who was now annoyed with them...speaking of him like he is some dirty cretin.

The Jarl and his advisers were shocked to hear this, but the Jarl stood and patted towards an open room.

"Come, my court wizard, Farengar, will want to speak with the two of you."


End file.
